The Exiled Read Online Free PDF Page A

canal now, moaning around her casements and rattling the fastenings with spectral fingers. Despite the warmth, Anne shivered. How close had she just come to other cold hands tonight? Without Ivan she might have been a prisoner now in a very different room, amongst rapacious strangers. Or she might be a corpse.
    Wearily, Anne slumped down onto the chair set ready for her by the fire as a quiet voice called her. ‘Mistress, may I come in? I have water for you.’
    ‘Yes, Jenna. You are welcome.’ It was not like Anne to allow others to sense when she was tired or frightened, she’d learnt that in the last few years, but tonight, shock brought her defences down.
    The other girl, open-faced, a silvery blonde, entered the room silently carrying a brass bowl and an ewer filled with hot water from the kitchen.
    ‘Would you like me to help you with the gown, lady?’ Anne shook her head.
    ‘No. Deborah will be here very soon, I expect. But I do need to clean my hands, Jenna.’
    Anne inspected her palms, and then her nails, dispassionately. She had grazed the heels of her hands when she’d dropped down onto the icy canal and broken several nails as she’d been hauled up the brick wall on the other side. Ordinarily she was proud of her hands and now that she did not have to work with them, as once she’d had to, they were soft and white, the calluses at the base of each finger nearly gone. The broken nails would need trimming and cleaning, though — best to soak them first.
    Jenna was a sensible girl. It was one of the reasons Deborah, as Lady Margaret’s recently appointed housekeeper in Brugge, had given her a post in this house, so she didn’t wince or fuss when she saw the blood; she poured warm water over them in a steady, gentle stream, not even commenting as it turned rose red.
    ‘I’ll get some more water for you, mistress.’
    ‘Yes, do that, Jenna. There’s a large cauldron on the fire in the kitchen; it should be hot by now.’ Deborah had entered the room unseen as Jenna opened a casement and threw the dirty water into the canal, then paused for a moment to tidy the room as the older woman bustled forward.
    ‘Here, mistress. Let me dry your hands. I’ve brought some fresh woundwort salve; it will help the healing.’
    Without protest, Anne let Deborah lift each of her hands and gently dry them on the linen towel she’d spread across her lap.
    ‘Where is Ivan, Deborah?’
    Deborah coughed to hide the chuckle that had risen unbidden. Fear did that to her sometimes. ‘I left him down in the kitchen, throwing back good Gruuthuse beer and boasting. He has a slash through his sleeve on one arm, but that’s all. Luck of the devil — or protected by him.’ Deborah did not approve of Ivan, he distracted the women of the house too much.
    The older woman’s astringent tone roused Anne from exhaustion. She was grateful to Ivan and it was important to voice that. ‘He did his job, and he did it well. When I am changed I shall thank him.’ Deborah kept silent, though she was hurt by Anne’s sharp tone.
    Anne felt the knife of guilt, but for now, in front of Jenna, she must play the role of their master’s ward.
    ‘Jenna, will you get the water, please, whilst Deborah helps me off with this heavy thing?’ The door of the solar opened, and then closed quietly. Jenna had left.
    Anne rose out of the chair, allowing her foster-mother to unlace the back of the red dress. She closed her eyes for a moment. All she could hear was the crackle of the flames and the buffeting wind outside her curtains. What she would not give to lie down on her bed and fall into a long, dark sleep.
    ‘Mistress? The rose pink or the blue?’ How hard it was to open her eyes. ‘The blue kirtle, I think. And the French linen shift, if you please. I hate feeling wool next to my skin.’
    So tired, so tired, it was hard to talk.
    ‘Would you still like your body washed before I dress you, lady?’ Deborah’s tone was formal and correct.